The scream was one of pain, not fear.

I raced around the cart and saw that a mustard-colored animal had leapt onto the man’s chest, one claw upraised to rake gashes along his chin.

My first reaction was “cat,” just because the animal was about the right size, but I dismissed that almost as quickly as I thought it. The fur wasn’t right, it didn’t have a tail, it didn’t even have a head, just a grotesque little muzzle jutting out from its shoulders.

There was no time to think, so I didn’t. I just moved, smashing my cast-iron pan against the monster’s side.

I didn’t send it flying, but two paws came loose. A nearby woman took advantage of the moment to grab it by the scruff of its neck and toss it to the ground.

It was on its feet in moments, arresting its momentum and heading back toward its victim, but it wasn’t catching us by surprise this time. While about half the crowd had drawn away from the attack in fear, and some people had frozen in place, Byron, Davi, and two airport workers were running toward the monster.

Byron threw a Fire Bolt at it, which unfortunately missed, ricocheting off the ground the monster had been crossing a split-second previously. Fortunately, Davi knew just where it was going: this time when the monster leapt at the airport employee, its claws bounced off a translucent blue pane, too smooth to grant it any purchase. The moment it fell to the ground, I struck, stomping hard on its back. I felt something crunch and I stomped again. Other boots joined mine until the creature literally began to break apart, floating away into ghostly trails of dust. I took a swing at these - and I wasn’t the only one - but they dissipated harmlessly.

“Holy shit,” said Marina. “You weren’t lying. I hoped you were lying.”

There was another cry from behind me and I saw Davi trying to catch John as he collapsed to the ground. He was much bigger than her and she was less holding him up and more slowing his fall.

I stepped forward to help her. “What happened?”

The man who’d been attacked responded. “He healed me. He fixed me up and then he just collapsed.”

I examined him closer. Blood still coated his face and shirt, but I could see that scabs had formed over his chin. I imagined the same was true of his gut.

“I thought he used his ability before,” I said to Davi.

“He did. I guess it was just for little bruises and stuff, mostly. Maybe he used it too much just now?”

“Maybe,” I said. I’d totally forgotten about my ability in the heat of the moment. “Byron, Davi, you’re not feeling tired, are you? Kurtis?”

“I’m fine,” said Byron. “But we shouldn’t stand around chatting. If there’s one here, there could be more. Let me help you get John on the cart.”

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Marina nodded. “This way.”

A nearby ramp led upward, and I could see faint light at its top. Marina confirmed that that was the way out to the tarmac, but that wasn’t our destination. She held her badge up to a closed door against one wall unthinkingly, then grew tense when she realized the reader was down.

Before she could truly panic, Kurtis elbowed his way through the crowd to smile at her. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

The door glowed blue and he pulled it open. Begrudgingly, I had to admit Kurt’s ability was coming in pretty handy, even if it was a shit choice for combat.

“What is this place?” I asked Marina, grabbing the candle I’d set down on the cart earlier.

“Nothing much,” she said. “I think it used to be a control center for that crap automated luggage handling system, but after they scrapped it we turned it into a breakroom. Management put up a first aid cabinet in here too - I think OSHA might require a certain number of them around or something. There’s a bathroom in the back and a big supplies and storage closet. That’s about it, really.”

John and Steve-the-airport-worker had been carried in and laid on breakroom tables. Someone had opened up the first aid cabinet and found the smelling salts, and was already waving them under Steve’s nose.

“You doing okay, Steve? Your blood sugar low? Need a candy bar or something?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Whuh? No, no. I’m fine. No shakes. Just… really tired.”

His eyes drifted closed again and the woman holding the smelling salts frowned. “I think he’s telling the truth. When he goes hypoglycemic I can usually see it in the sweat on his forehead, and his skin’s completely dry right now. Maybe we should just… let him rest?”

She sounded uncertain. Overwhelmed.

I turned and left.

Maybe I should have been more worried about John, but Davi was sitting with him and the others were in the room. Besides, my gut told me we’d already figured this out; overusing abilities made people tired. I rarely mistrusted my gut; John would wake up eventually.

Everyone had clustered in the breakroom, not wanting to leave the safety of the group. I decided to explore.They were worrying too much; monsters wouldn’t be inside here, not if they hadn’t been up in the concourse.

The hall from the breakroom held a door for a single-stall unisex bathroom. The drinking fountain next to it was still working, and the water tasted great, cool and refreshing even if the refrigeration unit beneath it was still and dead. There wasn’t much else to explore; the hallway ended at a door with “Supplies” scrawled across it in permanent marker. In spite of the unprofessional labeling, there was a very-official card reader next to the doorknob. I frowned, not wanting to go back for Kurtis… but then I noticed the door wasn’t completely flush with the wall. I pulled and it came open.

Curious, I peered at the door jamb, and grinned at the ball of cardboard that had been stuffed into the bolthole, preventing the door from locking.

Thank you, busy airport workers.

The closet was a mess, suiting its status as an offshoot of a largely-forgotten area of the airport. Near the door was a regular mop, broom and dustpan, along with a few bottles of cleaners and paper towels on a mostly-cleared section of shelf. These seemed to be the only items that saw frequent use, probably by the employees themselves rather than a dedicated janitorial staff. Further back, everything was covered with a layer of dust, clearly disused, but it was there I found the jackpot.

Amid jumbo-sized bottles of decades-old cleaning supplies were a toolbox, three grime-covered hardhats, and four aluminum-handled industrial mops. It took some finagling to figure out how to remove the cleaning head, but once I did I had a 5-foot metal pole with a sharp clamp on one end.

I swung it around experimentally, like I had with the waterski, but this time what I felt made me grin. My salvaged “staff” wasn’t perfect. Its length and weight were different than what I was used to, closer to a full-size bo staff than the shorter jo staffs I’d practiced with.

But it would do.